Ymir Hemlock
by Aquaticzeus
Summary: Washed up on an unknown shore and separated from her clan, Ymir Hemlock finds herself on a strange island inhabited by creatures long forgotten by the Earth and monsters pulled from story books. Her determination and will to survive is the only thing she can trust on this feral land of centuries past. Based on the video game ARK:Survival Evolved, Ragnarok
1. Prologue, Thor

_**Prologue**_

_**Thor's Fury**_

The sharp winds are tearing at our sails, aggressive waves pounding against the ship's hull, and stark lightning is striking the towering masts overhead; the sky is full of angry and dark clouds while our minds are full of worry about what else this storm has in store for us. My clan is running all about the ship, trying to manage the stray ropes, bringing our sails up, and tying down loose barrels while our leader, a man of great height and greying of hair named Havald, is doing his best to keep us from capsizing in this storm at the ship's wheel. I as his second-in command am helping as I can, getting the children below deck, storing our provisions in storage lest they be washed overboard, and trying to calm and direct the crew; however, it feels as though the sea is out for our very blood and I fear this voyage may be our last.

* * *

_It has been a few hours and the sea has seemed to calm, or at least as calm as a storm could get. My name is Ymir, and as clan Hemlock's scribe and story teller I feel it upon myself to take account of the current happenings here in my journal. Our clan has been sailing for over two months to explore the new lands _Leif Eriksson_ has found, land full of game and resources with few claims. Ideal for a fresh start for the clan, away from a home that we have been cast out of. We launched off the west coast of __the northern islands with the only two ships we could manage to get to. The ships were a hybrid of Roman/Viking make incorporating viking speed with roman storage and style. They were built with the most balanced oak the clan could find with shields decorating the sides with our clan's symbol, a pair of antlers with a deer hoof in the center, on every other shield face. The ships had two levels and were large enough to hold around forty clan members total on each, albeit while being packed into tight quarters._

_Unfortunately, our voyage has been ravaged by harsh storms for the past three and a half days that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Earlier today we suffered a great loss as we lost track of our sister ship when a wave the size of a _Jotunn_ came between us and sent her twisting away to the north. That blow hit many of us deeply as that ship had many loved ones on board, but also the few livestock we stored for the voyage. It hit the chief hardest as his son, Thorum, was acting captain of the ship. Some of my clan have begun to lose hope of making it to this promise land, and the storm is giving us no chance to even turn around. Thor himself must be throwing out these spindly arcs of lightning and causing these gale winds to throw us crashing against the giant, hungry waves that have been harassing our ship._

_I have stolen enough time to write this, I have an unnerving feeling in my gut about the coming hours and need to help prepare for the worst. Even now I can feel the waves returning to their former rage. Our clan's seer/ wise woman said that they have seen _Jormangunder_ in the water, others claim to see _Thor_ and _Odin_ in the clouds, and most have the outlandish fear that the time of _Ragnarok_ may be upon us. I pray to the sea goddess _Ran_ to stay her hand so that we can weather this storm long enough to find this new home and live another day._

* * *

"Ymir, the wheel!" shouted Havald as he gave control of the ship to me. I had just finished lighting lanterns, so I rush to put my flint away into my vest pocket as I grab the wheel to ease our course through the angry waters. The large man barreled through the crew to a lad that was about to be washed overboard. The waves had come up onto the deck and threatened to pull the young man down into the depths. Havald managed to get to him before he went over, held both him and a mast, and stood fast against the hungry waves.

I watched with anticipation as the waves receded and left the two men still on board, the young lad coughing up water and Havald watching over him.

"Get the lad below, it is too dangerous out here and he should not have been on deck during this storm." commanded Havald.

"B-but sir" the boy managed, "The seer sent me."

The crowd that had gathered stopped their mutterings and paid full attention to the boy. Our most recent seer was Valka, a thin and pale woman always adorned with gems weaved into her dark braids that fell to her waist. She took over the role during the past few months due to her mentor being killed in a skirmish. Although new to her post, her visions and predictions have not been wrong thus yet. Her gift has helped us evade our pursuers on most occasions and without her guidance, our casualties would have been far worse than what they have been.

The lad continued, "She has been with the spirits and they told her to give warning that a great danger was on its way, even greater than that of the storm! She sees dark tendrils lurking in the depths, visions of them wrapping around a ship and threatening to pull it down into the sea."

The crew on deck whispered nervous words to each other while Havald furrowed his brow and stroked his dark beard at this grim fortune. "Return to her with my thanks lad," he said "and see to it that all the children and elders below deck are well off. If a great danger is to come I want you and the other apprentices to be their swords and be ready at a moment's notice to defend them."

The young man went back below deck as the crew went back to their duties with fresh worry upon their shoulders. While walking back to the wheel, Havald gazed over the ship's railing with his spyglass and saw dark figures in the waves about five _vika _out, slowly and eerily getting closer to the ship.

"We should rally the crew and fetch our weapons should the threat be one we could fend off." I suggested. Our clan were esteemed hunters back home and could fend off even the greatest of animals, but unfortunately we had lost many of our warriors and the best of our hunters fleeing to the ships. Now we are down to only a handful of fighters; many of our number are mere apprentices that have not even been on their first hunt yet, children all under twelve years of age, and a few elderly members of the clan. It seems that our ill fortune continues to follow us.

He gave me a knowing look and I could feel the dread in his eyes. "We may be making our last stand here Ymir," he said "After all those weeks of running like prey, hiding in what shelter the earth could give us, mourning on the road while our fallen lay rotting in fields. For it all to end here at sea, far from our home, all because I couldn't swallow my pride or make peace." He sat on a barrel in such a defeated manner that it surprised me. The mistakes of the past must have pained him greatly, for the stoic man would have never given up this easily.

"This is not the end." I declare. I give Havald the wheel, grab my spear and axe, then turn to face the remainder of our fighters. Yngard and his two twin sons, Myra and her wife Brigette, and Draven our acting master hunter. All of them have lost kin and suffered losses too great to just end here for naught. Not to mention the younglings and non-fighters below deck who have gone through similar torments. Even now the fighters on deck are mockingly saying their goodbyes to each other to make light of the situation, but I can see past these facades. They are scared one and all, they have lost much on this hope of a promise land and I will not let this hope fade from their hearts.

"Warriors give your attention to me!" I shout. "The time draws near in which we must face and pass another test given to us by fate's cruel hand. Our clan has suffered much already yes, and it feels as though our gods have a sick vendetta against us, but I for one will not let all our strives and struggles be for nothing. We will survive this creature as we have survived all other odds thrown against us. We are the Hemlock clan, the clan of a proud lineage. Our ancestors hunted the wilds for centuries before us, mastering the skill to teach it to the other fledgling clans. We will not go down to some beast when we are the most famed hunters of the isles. Thor himself has thrown storms against us and we have not fallen to even his might yet!" I pause to let my words sink into the men and already I can see the speech taking effect.

"If we do fall, know that we are not alone. Our ancestors surely have been by our sides since the very start of our struggles. They have been watching us as the gods tested our mettle and offered support by sharing to Valka the unknown threats that would have stopped us from reaching our ships. If you are to fall today know that you will be welcomed into _Valhalla's_ doors with open arms! By Odin himself I personally will take that creature down with me if given chance. Now, who else here are willing to join me in this hunt? Who else here has the nerve of iron that it will take to fell this beast?! Who else here are a proud member, of Clan Hemlock?!" I raise my spear and axe in unison and all the fighters on deck follow with their weapons, belting their war cries and pounding their chests in anticipation, daring the creature to fight the might of the Hemlock clan.

Just then a screech that could shatter glass and pierce minds erupted from the sea below and thunder rang against the clouds. We all ran to the ship's railing to see the water bubbling and watched as one huge amber eye the length of a man rose to just under the surface and stared back at us. "It seems the beast has heard our challenge" said Myra. Without waiting for it to lash its tentacles at us or flip our ship, I threw myself over the edge and clung to the railing. Using the movement of my vault I threw my spear down into the water with great strength into the leviathan's eye.

My spear struck true and a sickly dark red bile came from the penetrating wound. The creature shrieked in pain and sunk below the ship, only for its dark slithering tentacles to creep aboard the other side and for deafening arcs of lightning to strike overhead. The dark tendrils snaked themselves up the two masts and constricted, causing the large pieces of lumber to creak and moan in protest. Havald was there before us and with his great axe he chopped through the tentacles that were squeezing the main mast, biting a quarter of the way into the wood. The sliced pieces of tendril flew off into the air as the rest of the wounded arms withdrew back into the sea. Draven and I made it to the other group of slime covered arms and hacked at them with our axes. A fifth tendril slid through the railings and caught one of Yngard's sons off-guard. It wound itself around the boy and tightened until blood came from his eyes and bones could be heard snapping throughout his body. His twin stood in horror as his father cleaved the aggressor with his sword, releasing the creature's hold on his son. The crushed boy fell into his fathers' arms with a thud as Yngard embraced his fallen son.

Thunder cracked across the sky as the waves erupted in an explosion of water. The beast pulled itself up from the waves using the ship as leverage, threatening to tip our vessel. The creature's head was shaped like the underside of a ship with sail like fins hanging off its sides. Its eyes were an eerie otherworldly yellow with the stabbed one facing away from us, while the other eye faced the ship and held us all in its piercing light, captivating us in a trance like state. The shadowy figure loomed over us like a gluttonous lord over a bountiful meal.

Brigette and Myra had mustered the will to break away from the trap and began firing arrows into its flank. The beast blinked, breaking our trance and astounded by the offense, rose one of its tentacles over the ship and brought it down with great force onto the women. Havald rushed to the couple to find them unconscious, though still breathing. As Havald tried to care for the women, two twisting tendrils worked their way onto the ship's deck and seized both him and Yngard, taking advantage of their distractions. Leaning backwards, the sea creature unveiled its razor-sharp beak and started to pull the two men towards their gruesome deaths.

"We have no hope of killing the giant in this manner" I yell to Draven, "its voracity and determination for a meal is too great!" As I scoured my brain for a solution, one of the barrels that was not tied down rolled to Draven's feet. From the smell I can tell that it is full of lard and coated in oil from a lantern that must have broken. "Its enough for a small powerful explosion, but this is our only chance!" suggested Draven. "It must either be loud enough to scare the leviathan off or kill it outright. Lightning does not faze the creature, so I doubt a small explosion will."

It was then an idea struck me. I recovered Myra's bow, strung an arrow onto its string and fired a well-placed shot it into the creature's wounded eye. It screamed its disorientating and ear popping shriek, dropping Havald and Yngard while focusing its gaze solely on me.

In less than a second the beast lunged at me and I only had enough time to shove Draven out of the way as the monster gathered both me and the barrel into its maw. It bit down, and I felt my waist tear and my lower half dangle outside the beak. The pain was something from a nightmare and I almost fainted from the agony, but I could not let go just yet. My entire clan's future was riding on these next few seconds. Not daring to look at the wound, I grabbed the flint from my vest pocket and struck the barrel's metal reinforcements with the little strength I had left.

In those last moments I was gifted a glimpse of the future. My clan landing on the shore of a new home with both ships in tow, finally free from the struggles of the past. Leif Eriksson welcomes the clan as the children run from the ship's holds and begin to frolic in the fields while the hunters and apprentices begin to prepare for their first hunt of the new land.

This vision comforts me in my final moments as the barrel catches the sparks from my strike. All I hear in those last few moments are shouts calling my name, the explosion, and the bastard monster shrieking one final time.


	2. Ch1 First Steps

**Ch.1**

**First Steps**

I hear waves in the distance gently caressing the beach with every ebb and flow. Seagulls are gulling overhead, soaring high on the sheer winds that barely keep me cool despite the sun's deathly heated glare. I find myself face down on a deserted shore, and when I raise my head to look around I only find stars in my eyes and a stabbing pain in my head. My mind is foggy and unclear. Memories are trying to come forward, but only end up shifting and fading through a shallow dark mess. My legs and arms feel as though they are alit with flames and there is a coarse layer of sand covering my entire body. The ragged tunic that I have washed up in is as rough as worn rope and is rubbing my skin raw while there is a sharp pain coming from my wrist.

I lay my head back down onto my arm to create a small space of shade for my eyes to adjust. My mouth is dry and tastes of sand, and from licking my lips I can tell they are cracked and bleeding a bit. "Shade" I coarsely whisper, realizing that without it I am surely to give into the sun sickness.

After a few minutes, I try again to lift my head to see the stars start to fade and my headache lessen. I squint my eyes against the sun's rays and see a small cluster of tall palmed trees gathered in front of me, about a stone's throw away. The large swaying leaves tempt a shaded shelter from the scorched sands and the unwavering rays of heat boiling my now reddened skin.

I try and rise to my feet, somewhat-steadily at first, but only for my midsection to scream in agony causing me to collapse onto my backside into the baking sand. Hesitantly, I lift my tunic, and find an angry scar; and by tracing it with timid and shaking fingers I find that it starts at an angle from below my navel, all around to my lower back. I try to remember how I received such a wound but can only remember dark tendrils, screaming, and an explosion. The experience must have been awful if I could not remember it at all, and if it left a scar this pronounced.

I shove the thought aside, there is no point trying to remember my past if my future is not guaranteed. I muster the strength to flip onto my stomach and begin to crawl towards the trees. Every pull bringing both burning knives into my arms as well as determined fires into my gut. With every drag, scrapes against my body that raw my skin, but that also deepen my resolve.

Finally, after what seemed to be an hour's worth of effort, I am enveloped in the shaded sanctuary. The shade is a god send and is already starting to cool me off. There are leafy bushes underneath these trees that offer denser shade, and even plump blue berries that tempt my empty and growling stomach. Working my way under one of them, I pull off a single berry and find that it is firm to the touch with smooth skin; however, I reason that they could be poisonous, so I toss it aside despite my stomach's sudden anger at the missed potential nourishment.

As I tossed the berry I caught a glimpse of light reflecting off my wrist. I bring my arm in closer and find a diamond shaped crystal embedded into my skin. I scratch at it, only for it to flare up against the shade as soon as my fingers make contact. It sent out a blue light in a ring around the crystal facet and a tiny journal fell out of it and onto my face, followed by a charcoal stylus. Annoyed and astounded, I pick up the journal and find that it had grown within seconds to be a little larger than my hand and that a name was etched on the cover. "Ymir" I say out loud, the name being familiar on my tongue and bringing up memories of a… a woman with blazing braided hair, amber eyes, and fair skin. I start exploring through the book's papyrus pages and find tales of gods and legends of mortal men that flood the papers along with musical notes that go along with them. Flipping to the middle I find a most dire passage about a clan called Hemlock that were cast out of their home and forced to withstand trials caused by a lack of humility.

"My clan." I mutter. A spark connects in my mind and shock over takes me as I remember that this journal is mine, every word written by my hand, and every song and tale sung at least several dozen times. I am Ymir Hemlock, the second in command of Clan Hemlock as well as the scribe and story teller.

As if summoned by a war horn, my memories all rush to the surface of my mind, breaking past the shallow dark mess that was keeping them hostage. They begin to swirl around, fighting for dominance like a tempest of thoughts released by a single mention. It feels as though my entire life is playing out in my mind, my parents teaching me to walk then to hunt not a fortnight later. My mother's cooked meals with her signature recipes, my father's bows and axes that he kept in prime condition, and even our clan's festivals and ceremonies, along with my role and responsibilities. My mind settles from the mental storm and I can begin to sift through my memories without them all clashing into each other.

Being the scribe was honest work. I was one of the few in the clan that could write in the runes, and the only one to write in the roman language. Because of this, I was charged with keeping the clan's historical and traditional stories, records of hunts, and also all the complex family lineages. With all the new thralls coming from the south it was hard to piece families together anymore, but I valued the diversity these newcomers brought with them along with their skills. I also acted as a translator for my people whenever we crossed paths with the Romans. Most of these encounters were to barter for their goods and valuables when we were in short supply, while keeping records of these dealings as well.

My mother was the clan's story teller before me, and before she passed she taught me everything she knew. All the tales of our people and gods, how to soothe men and beast alike with song, and how to inspire the clan with great battle stories and speeches. All great trademarks of an esteemed story teller. I miss her dearly.

As second in command I was a liaison to many of the other tribes on the Isles and helped to keep the peace. When Havald was off on voyages or hunting parties, I oversaw the clan in his absence. On more than one occasion I was often told that I had what it took to lead my own clan. My speeches lit flames in my people's hearts and my understanding nature helped calm those whose flames grew too harshly. For a time Havald thought of even sending me with some of our people to the new continent in the west to establish Clan Hemlock's mark on the new world, but it never got to happen. Our tribe was uprooted and chased across the Emerald Isles because, because…

The uprooting of my clan is hard to relive and trying to remember it sets off a tempest of emotions in my mind. I hurriedly bury the thought down and try to remember something else. The battle with the sea beast came to mind and was hard to think about as every time I think of the beast my scar responds with pain and aches. The gods themselves must have seen my sacrifice in my final moments and granted me another chance at life for saving my people. I remember my vision of the clan making it to the new lands and to Leif Eriksson. I can only hope that this is true.

As for me, I don't know where I am and am stranded on some unknown island without anyone. I feel tears beginning to well up as I think of all my clan mates, who may as well be dead. I have spent my entire life with my clan, and for them to be ripped away from me like this. The chances of me finding them are slim and my chances of being rescued are as small as a grain of this baked sand. The tears are free flowing now and cascade down the sides of my face like a stream that was undammed.

After waking from my unintentional nap, I can tell that a few hours have passed. The sun is hanging lower in the sky and is getting close to the horizon. I cannot afford to waste time crying over the past, especially without know what kinds of danger lurks here under the cover of darkness. I need to survive on this island so that one day I may be able to find my clan, or at least, manage to make a new life for myself here.

Mustering the strength to sit up, I fully take into view the beach I washed up on. There are rocks and some boulders lining the shore, with some gravel mixed into the sand the more inland you go, and a few trees that spot the sands. My "beach" is actually a tiny bay with a small island in the middle. Turning around I can see that the sand ends at a small cliff behind the cluster of trees that were my sanctuary. While stretching my sun burnt neck to look, I can see that beyond the small cliff lies fields of lush and verdant green hills that roll into craggy highland mounds that stretch far off past my sight. To my left a large mountain lays at an angled slope starting after a bend in the beach. As my eyes follow the slope I can barely make out what seems to be giant stone claws that reside at the mountains flat peak. Strange large birds fly off in the distance over the hills and mounds, casting silhouettes that are unknown to me as well as giant creatures that lumber around the fields. These creatures are worrisome and foreign, just like the beast that attacked us at sea. I am weary of them, but for the moment they are far from me and hopefully, have not yet seen me.

I try and stand again, using the trunk of the trees as a balance. The foliage granted me enough shade to recover and orientate my thoughts, enough so that I have decided on a plan. My body is still sore and aches, I can feel my skin beginning to peel, there is sand _all over_ my body, and this tunic is nowhere near the most comfortable, but these are all minor things that can be brushed aside. Right now, I need to find food, build a shelter, find drinkable water, and make tools and weapons to defend my myself as well as to hunt.

The beach is littered with small stones and twigs, as well as flint and dried uprooted trees. I walk close to the water's edge and begin to dig a small fire pit about an arm's length across and a foot deep. After lining the pit with nearby stones, I start filling it with twigs and shots of grass that pop up here and there on the beach to act as kindle. A small chunk of flint seems to have been broken off a boulder, so I collect it and place it next to the pit for when I must light the fire tonight. This entire process would have been simple, if my skin had not broken open with every twist and turn, shedding its remains across the sands.

With the fire ready to go I do a quick look over the beach again and find a group of some strange fowl. They are as large as a shield, with wings too small and gaunt to help it fly and walk in a hobbled manner as if always off balance. There are five in the group, with their feathers ranging in color from a deep blue that matches the ocean to a tawny beige. The beige one, the largest, comes up to my feet and regards me with its black beady eyes, then goes back to its group as they shuffle towards some thick bushes not far from me that also have grown blue berries. They all quickly devour the berries as if it was their last meal. Savage pecks at the berries tear off the connecting fronds in the process, and soon the bush is only left with a couple leaves and scattered berries.

"At least now I know the berries are safe to eat" I mumble to myself as the flock continues down the shore. I follow the birds down the water's edge, breaking a branch off one of the dried trees that lie on the sand as I go, and am pleased when it snaps off to a sharp point. Within ten feet of the group, I raise my arm, tighten my muscles, and aim at the beige bird. The fowl pays me no mind and is instead scanning the beach looking for more berries as the flock marches. Praying to _Cernunnos_ for a clean and swift kill, I launch my makeshift spear through the air and watch as it punctures the bird's neck and comes out clean on the other side. The other birds turn to their fallen friend and start squawking in a cacophony of noise and begin running/hobbling into the hills as I fetch my prize. The bird hangs heavy on my spear as I carry it over my shoulder, and as I walk back towards my fire pit I gaze out to the waters and see that the sun is getting closer to meet the sea, heralding that dusk is on its way.

Once back at the pit I press the blunt end of my spear into the sand and remove the bird from it. I start plucking the feathers from the bird, careful to place them on a nearby flat stone to save for arrows later. As I pluck the feathers I hear a rustle in the brush and feel the wind change directions. Dropping the bird into the pit and grabbing my spear, I turn and make eye contact with a great a deer on the top of the cliff the separates the beach and hills. Its antlers are a stark glistening white with almost deliberate designs carved into them, while its dark ginger bulk is large enough to even challenge a bear.

The stag's dark brown eyes stare into mine, piercing into my soul until I begin to feel dizzy. My vision blurs and suddenly I am looking at myself, but from a higher position and with more detail than I am used to. I am ragged, my hair is all over with twigs in it, the natural curls wild and unbraided, tired eyes, dirt and sand covering my skin and my scar peeking through the many tatters in my tunic. "Pitiful" a voice not my own echoes in my head, "You have more potential than this, surely."

My vision blurs again, and I am left staring at the deer. It lets out a deep guttural call, and bounds off towards the hills, leaving me alone with a mind as full of questions as my stomach is empty. My head is pounding and as I touch my face I can feel blood coming from my nose. Alarmed, disturbed and confused, I pick up the half-plucked bird from the pit and finish preparing it to cook, falling into a familiar trained rhythm that helps soothe my headache. I tear off a piece of my tunic and plug it into my noise once the bird is plucked clean; and then strike my flint across a stone and watch as the sparks fall onto the kindling like droplets of fire, igniting the pit. I place some dried wood into the shape of a tent and stick the bird back onto my spear to have it roast over the fire while being held in the sand.

My stomach roars in anticipation as the meat darkens and crisps over, while tantalizing juices seep from its core, further coating it in savory flavor and aroma. The grease drips off the bird like sweat after a hunt, and sizzles onto the fire below releasing an all too familiar smell of cooked chicken that is strong enough that I can even smell it though my plugged nose.

Once the skin turned a rich golden brown I moved the spear to sit on a rock to let the meat cool. As it cools I decided to gather some blue berries from the bushes from where I sought shelter. I tried a few and although salty, probably from growing so close to the ocean, they offered plenty of juice per berry and helped to quench my thirst and to soothe my cracked lips. When I returned to the fire I ripped off a leg from the bird and tore into its warm, brown, and crisped skin and was met with a flavor so appealing to my empty stomach that I was over taken with hunger. I inhaled the rest of the leg and quickly set to feasting on the rest of the bird. Within minutes I had devoured the fowl, tearing into its flesh like a wolf after a hunt and savoring the meat as it fell into my demanding and starved stomach. After my meal, I saved the bones to be used as needles for leatherworking as my father had taught me and turned to look at the ocean.

The sun was setting, casting violet and peach hues across the vast sky as the stars started to reveal themselves from the heavens. With night coming I quickly made a bed of the ripped leaves from the earlier bush carnage the birds had committed. Making a pair of standing torches to place around the camp, I lit them all after lathered them in the remaining fat from my dinner to both keep me warm and to keep away any creatures that would harm me in the night.

As I lad down on my makeshift bedding, surrounded by light and warmth, a comforting thought made its way into my mind that I in turn voiced with confidence,

"I am Ymir Hemlock, and I will survive."


End file.
